THE GLADIATOR (18 page)

noticeably wet sound. But Carlo kept lashing her until she locked rigid and when he stopped, both John and Madame applauded as the cunt visibly spasmed and clenched exuding thick gobbets of opaque fluid.

By lunchtime, John felt that the morning had been well spent. Patti had knelt and licked the big blonde clean twice and the slave had seemed to accept her quietly enough. But just to make sure, Carlo had knocked a couple of nails into the stable door's jambs and tied Patti's wrist restraints to them before whipping her back with a long dressage whip. He had clearly left her back unmarked the previous night for that purpose because her backside bore an impressive number of tramlines from a cane, her breasts were scored by the crop and her stomach and thighs were still red from a flogger.

He was pretty certain that there would be no more jealous tantrums from her.

All that remained now was to get the blonde back into training and to goad Conor Brien into a wager.

Chapter 21

Tara’s main problem was her impatience. Once Carlo had beaten her and allowed her to be taken out in the stableyard, she knew she was on the road to recovery and found the gentle workouts he now set for her irritatingly easy, the lack of hard testing allowed her to emerge from her customary, comfortable torpor. Even when she was harnessed to a trap and steered out into the parklands, he kept her to an easy trot. There was no fighting either, instead she was allowed to run free around the estate with only Carlo himself running beside her. Her irritation was taken out on her groom. She kicked and bit at every opportunity but never got more than a slap on the rump in return, the copper-haired woman seemed to be possessed of saint-like patience. But even Tara had to admit that for whatever reason the woman did really seem to be devoted to her. She spent hours brushing out her hair, she kept careful notes of every bowel movement, every day; and frequently returned food to the kitchens if she didn’t think it was precisely what Carlo had ordered.

She was almost permanently in attendance on Tara and Carlo had her adopt the same uniform as the grooms back at Conor’s stable, he gave her an old shirt and she had to make do with that. Tara thought she had very good legs and enjoyed watching her at work, but mainly she enjoyed it when the woman went to work on her. At nights, after chaining her she would frequently spend a long time between Tara’s legs, patiently licking and finger-fucking her to climax after climax. If it was a form of apology for her treachery, then Tara soon forgave her completely.

But slowly things began to return to normal. She had her own tack made by the male grooms, a studded boxing corset and thong arrived and eventually combat practice resumed. There seemed to be no female fighting slaves around so she trained with Carlo. A kind of pen had been constructed in a barn out beyond the yard and here he would strip to the waist and she would wrestle and box with him. He wore no protection for boxing, even though she wore the weighted leather strips. If she managed to lay a fist on him at all he would take it with no more than a slight grimace. But he didn’t pull any of his own punches and she got used to taking much heavier punishment than against another girl. Sometimes some strange men would come and watch and sometimes they were allowed to have her afterwards. And as time went on, they would sometimes throw a girl in with her, for a little warm down after a hard bout with Carlo.

But it was only when the whip duelling practice began again in earnest and Carlo began to flog her hard when she was in harness that Tara realised her strength was returning and maybe some kind of real show was in the offing.

One evening, John returned to The Lodge after another absence. It had been nearly two months since the blonde slave had arrived and the members, having been told that this girl held the key to getting a steady supply of new stock, were now getting restive. Up in the Common room after dinner, he held court and told them about progress.

As a special treat the blonde had been brought up from her stall and was forming the centrepiece of the action. In the huge, high-ceilinged room, any girl could be enjoyed in any way by any member. John sat on one of the sofas, surrounded by Carlo, Madame, Dandy MacIntyre, Alan Masterson and several other long-time members. Around them, the air was filled with the hiss and smack of whips and the groans and cries of the girls. The big blonde was wrist suspended from a chandelier in the middle of the room and two of the newer members were gleefully wielding whips across her broad haunches and taking bets on how many orgasms they could force her to. But all round the room other girls were bent over trestles, hung in frames or stretched over bars and were being subjected to all the torments their imaginative masters could conjure up. The air was thick with cigar smoke and the smell of sex.

John breathed it in appreciatively; it was good to be home. Beside him knelt his wife, Caroline, ready to serve him. He held out one hand and she knelt up to allow him to delve into the bodice of her dress and scoop out a breast which he squeezed and teased casually as he spoke.

“It’s on,” he said simply. Carlo pumped his fist in the air but John hadn’t finished.

“We fight three events over one day. Cross country log pulling, then pony racing in full studded tack and finally a no-holds-barred contest in a special pen he’s having made. I’ve seen the plans and it looks hard, Carlo.”

“It’s no problem, Blondie’s ready to fight again. I can feel it in her.”

“Good. Of course Brien doesn’t know we’re only fielding one slave, that would have given the game away but from what you say, Blondie can take three on alright.” They all looked over to where the slave was still being belaboured, her legs were beginning to bicycle in the air a little as the tally mounted.

“But what was the final wager John?” Dandy asked impatiently.

“Ah, now when I said I wasn’t interested in prize money, I got his interest. He’s a gambler and he took the bait straightaway. If we win, we claim the three slaves he puts up and we get first refusal on all the new recruits from the markets he goes to. And of course, I or a representative, go along to make sure he doesn’t palm any second rate stock off on us.”

Carlo nodded. “He’d like that. The risk is just enough to make it interesting.”

“Come on John!” Dandy demanded. “What’s that against?”

John waved his arm in a gesture which included the whole room. “This,” he said quietly. “If we lose, he takes The Lodge. It was the only way I could get him to take the bet.”

There was a moment’s silence then everyone spoke at once until Madame held up her hand and asked for quiet. “Let’s hear what Carlo thinks,” she said. All eyes turned to the trainer.

“For the log pulling, I reckon they’ll put up Number Nine - a Russian girl, very strong but not as fast as Blondie. For the racing it’ll have to be Jet, she and Blondie go back a long way, normally Blondie would take her every time but after a log pull......well, she
should
still do it. As for the pen; I reckon they’ll use El Tigre, she was the best fighter coming up through the squad. And she’s tough, gentlemen.”

“You are not very encouraging Mr Suarez,” Madame observed.

“Ah, Madame, you forget one thing,” a sly smile spread over Carlo’s face. “Blondie will be fighting for me against Conor Brien. That’s how she’ll see it and she’ll give me everything.”

“Precisely,” John agreed. “That’s why I had to go up against Brien. If Blondie’s going to take on three contests in a day against fresh slaves. She’s going to need all the motivation we can give her. Let’s just pray her ‘everything’ is going to be enough.”

Chapter 22

Tara knew for certain that she was going back into serious combat. Carlo produced a length of chain and a long pole and began log pulling practice. But this time it was out in the grounds of the house and she had to pull a heavy log over grass, through calf-deep mud, through water and up steep hills. It was gruelling work and she got all the whip she wanted and more. In the makeshift pen she fought Carlo till late into the night and now there were more spectators who shouted encouragement to her. Her groom woke her early and she was tacked up and ready to pull the trap not long after the sun was up. Carlo seemed intent on not letting her rest, he pushed her harder and harder, making her pull the log immediately after four full circuits of the estate between the shafts of the trap. And then he began putting her in the pen against other men. There were two of them, but if she hadn’t seen them together she would never have known. They were identical twins and much bigger than Carlo. He would shove her in, still mud-spattered and panting, her body still smarting from the whip and there would be one of them, perfectly fresh and ready for her. Either she would have to try and wrestle him or box him naked or worse, fight with whips. What was most disconcerting about these strange men was that they were utterly silent. But they were very good and Tara took pounding after relentless pounding. But slowly she began to find reserves of strength which even she, despite all she had been through, had not suspected she possessed.

Then quite suddenly it all stopped and for three entire days she was rested. Then there was a week of light training and no whip, and then one afternoon Carlo came for her and her groom packed her tack and her whips into two large suitcases. She heard a helicopter in the distance and knew she was going back into an arena.

John waited impatiently beside the large copter for the group who would be making the journey with him to Conor Brien’s island; Carlo, Patti and Blondie were the core of it of course but it had been decided that Yuri and Ivan would make the trip too. Conor was going to go ballistic when he saw the trick that John had pulled and they would need all the security they could get to protect Blondie from any attempts at nobbling.

For that very reason, and to further protect her, they were aiming to arrive early on in the morning of the actual day the contests were to be held. He went over again in his head the wording of the contract that had been drawn up, he was obliged to; ‘provide a slave of sufficient training for each event so that a spectacle worthy of the Blue stable will be guaranteed.’ He had carefully phrased it so that Conor couldn’t wriggle out of the wager once he showed up with just one slave - and Blondie at that! Also by arriving so close to the start it would make it all but impossible for Conor to back out as all the arrangements; all the cameras, the lighting and most importantly the spectators would be in place. But what he was now waiting to see was the effect of his final manoeuvre in the psychological war.

The group came round the corner of the house and John felt his spirits lift immediately. Walking in the centre of the group was the slave herself, but she wasn’t naked. She wore high-heeled sandals, a short brown leather skirt and a simple white blouse tucked into it. Her ankle restraints had been removed and she wasn’t on her tongue lead. Her only outward traces of slavery were her collar and the fact that her wrists were clipped together behind her back. John noticed that she kept very close to Carlo, her shoulder touching his and her eyes were lowered in that strange, inward-looking gaze she always adopted.

For a female who wore her customary nudity with more blatant sex appeal than most women managed with a fortune in designer clothes, Blondie with even those simple items was simply stunning. Her thick blonde tresses, beautifully groomed into silken waves, moved and swung about her shoulders as she walked, her breasts pushed and shifted just a little against the plain white material of the blouse; and her legs! John felt himself begin to throb into erection as he studied the smooth, tanned thighs, long, muscular and shapely, as they strained the short skirt with each step. And the leather at her hips was stretched tightly and hugged the curves of her haunches. Even he, who well knew the feel and appearance of the vulva, hidden just above the skirt’s hem, longed to put his hand up and explore the soft, warm moistness he knew he would find there.

The thinking behind this transformation was that Blondie had been something of a legend in the world of the arenas, then out of the blue she had lost a fight she should have won and had disappeared. But now she would reappear, not naked like the other arena slaves, but devastatingly clothed and looking every inch the thoroughbred she was. Once the crowd saw her.......well just let Conor Brien try and back down then.

Tara hadn’t liked the feel of the clothes but her master was plainly determined she should wear them and she had subsided into her usual docility. She was also uncomfortable about not being on her tongue lead but as long as she could stay close by him she could put up with it.

Once in the helicopter she had immediately settled herself to sleep, instinctively taking advantage of any opportunity to rest. Sometime in the dark, there was a transfer to a private jet and finally, in the light of early morning there was another transfer to a smaller helicopter. Tara slept as much as she could, there was no doubt now that she would be required to fight soon.

She woke to find herself back at what she always thought of as her home arena. She came to full alertness immediately and recognised the small airfield and below it the sprawl of familiar buildings around the bulk of the arena itself. Following Carlo, and now far more alert and expectant than normal, she stepped out onto the grass. Coming towards them was a crowd of men, she recognised some of the guards but her eyes were drawn to the centre of the group and she saw Conor Brien and Mark Cavanagh. She moved closer to Carlo, her heart suddenly pounding but he shushed her and patted her behind.

“It’s okay, Blondie. All you got to do is fight this afternoon. You’re even with him now so it’s okay to win and get ahead of him! Then we go back to our nice new stable and we fight whenever we want after that. All you got to do is win, Blondie - and you know how to do that, don’t you girl, eh?”

Beneath his words she could feel the tension inside him. Suddenly there were raised voices all round them, Conor’s was loudest and he was pointing angrily at her but the two silent men stepped protectively in front of her and she let herself fall back into her usual torpor.

Eventually she was vaguely aware of more people arriving and there seemed to be cameras and suddenly Carlo had his hand on one of her arms and was leading her away. People seemed to be cheering her and Carlo was waving back at them. She sensed him begin to relax and followed him to a jeep which took them down to the estate buildings.

Once they arrived, Tara’s calm couldn’t protect her from the rush of emotions she felt. Something akin to homesickness pervaded her as she was led past the barracks buildings, then the training ground where there was a strange new kind of pen taking up almost the whole of it. And inevitably her eyes went to the looming bulk of the arena where she had first tasted the heady excitement of the female gladiator’s life and then, beneath Carlo’s whip and in front of the baying crowd, had finally sunk into full acceptance of her fate and her nature.

Carlo sensed her disturbed spirits and once she had stripped and was settled in a stall just opposite her old one, he stayed with her, massaging her neck and shoulders until she was ready for some last minute rest.

She was woken after what seemed like only a few minutes and after a light lunch of fresh fruit and cold meat which Patti prepared right there in the stable and a few quick loosening up exercises she was prepared for log pulling and led outside on her tongue lead. The crowd was waiting for them down by the assault course and once again they seemed to be cheering her but now Tara completely ignored the noise and instead set about assessing the opposition and the task in hand. The logs were to be pulled lengthways with chains looped around thick stumps at one end, the course would require them to be pulled through water so Carlo’s preparation had been correct - as usual. Her opposing slave was one she vaguely recognised from the squad, another blonde, but stockier and shorter than she was. The two slaves glared at each other as the chains running from the logs were clipped to the poles across their shoulders and their drivers flicked and cracked their whips in the air to warm up. Then a guard stood forward with a starting pistol and Carlo flicked her across her back to instruct her to take the strain and wait for the signal. She leant forwards and tested her footing, trying to dig in deep for the first desperate tugs against the inertia behind her.

There was a dry Crack! from the pistol and the sound of the first lashes landing on female skin was drowned out by the crowd, who exploded into cheers and yells of encouragement. Tara strained and swung her weight from side to side as Carlo’s whip curled around her ribs, biting into her breasts as he stood directly behind her, astride the log and flogged her forehand and backhand. Quite suddenly the log moved and she almost stumbled in surprise but then she was off, her thighs pumping as she accelerated down the slight incline which led to the water. She almost laughed aloud in the sheer delight of competing again under the whip and also because she realised that all the hours of struggling through English mud had been a deliberate plan on Carlo’s part. Here the ground was harder and the log moved more easily. He had given her an edge and she was going to exploit it to the full. The water was barely ankle deep and she cleared it already well ahead and dug in deep again to pull up the other bank. But Carlo flicked at her thighs, she didn’t need to exert any more energy than was absolutely necessary. Once a decisive lead was taken in log pulling, there was little chance of being overtaken. She settled into a rhythm which kept her comfortably in the lead for the next three circuits and even had the leisure to notice that the crowd was cheering her on rather than booing the lack of close competition. At the end though, they wouldn’t accept a tariff of less than thirty lashes for the loser. The other blonde, already heavily scored was staked out between four pegs hammered into the hard ground and given fifteen on her back, then turned over and given the rest to her breasts and stomach.

Carlo let Tara have some water and a rest while the sentence was carried out. The sounds of the whipping, the crowd’s gleeful counting of the lashes and the slave’s groans, cries and struggles as she squirmed and ultimately climaxed sent warm tingles down into her crotch. She was home - and she was ready for the next challenge.